She discovered a desire to enter as a student in the Imperial College at Westminster, where Russell taught, and go on with her work at the fountain-head. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand. She had even tried a needle and a catheter on a victim once, but had found that the process was so frustrating and slow that she barely gained any sustenance and had done the worst thing imaginable: wasted a kill. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague.
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