She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had in mind. I have tried taking a little blood from various donors. We got your message, but you never stay out this late. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister.
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