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Viereck, George Sylvester, 1884-1962

"The House of the Vampire"


Then, although sleep seemed out of the question, he went to bed. He had
hardly touched the pillow when a leaden weight seemed to fall upon his
eyes. The day's commotion had been too much for his delicate frame. By
force of habit he pulled the cover over his ear and fell asleep.
All night he slept heavily, and the morning was far advanced when a
knock at the door that, at first, seemed to come across an immeasurable
distance, brought him back to himself. It was Reginald's manservant
announcing that breakfast was waiting.
Ernest got up and rubbed his eyes. The barricade at the door at once
brought back to his mind with startling clearness the events of the
previous evening.
Everything was as he had left it. Evidently no one had attempted to
enter the room while he slept. He could not help smiling at the
arrangement which reminded him of his childhood, when he had sought by
similar means security from burglars and bogeys. And in the broad
daylight Ethel's tales of vampires seemed once more impossible and
absurd.


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