‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. Your mother arrived, and she knew me for what I was, she whispered to me curses against werewolves and vampires when I was alone in a room with her. His hands came up, his face broke apart. I didn’t know that you had it that bad,” said John.
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