Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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