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. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. .
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