"Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. Then there was also the horse. Ramage, and might describe the affair to him, she cried “Oh!” with renewed vexation, and repeated some steps of her dance in a new and more ecstatic measure. “You—appear to know my name, sir,” Sir John said. " "Wretch!" cried Mrs. \" Diane chirped once again, ever-musical. "Souls," she answered, drily. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. "What's that you're saying about Jack Sheppard?" she cried. There were two sisters, you know.
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