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hours, or watch the gleam of the lamplight change the somber colors of a Dutch painting.

I was aghast at such moments; her mind was unpredictable, unknowable. But then she would sit on my lap and put her fingers in my hair and doze there against my heart, whispering to me softly I should never be as grown up as she until I knew that killing was the more serious thing, not the books, the music. `Always the music . . .' she whispered. `Doll, doll,' I called her. That's what she was. A magic doll. Laughter and infinite intellect and then the round-checked face, the bud mouth. `Let me dress you, let me brush your hair,' I would say to her out of old habit, aware of her smiling and watching me with the thin veil of boredom over her expression. `Do as you like,' she breathed into my ear as I bent down to fasten her pearl buttons. `Only kill with me tonight. You never let me see you kill, Louis'

She wanted a coffin of her own now, which left me more wounded than I would let her see. I walked out after giving my gentlemanly consent; for how many years had I slept with her as if she were part of me I couldn't know. But then I found her near the Ursuline Convent, an orphan lost in the darkness, and she ran suddenly towards me and clutched at me with a human desperation. `I don't want it if it hurts you,' she confided so softly that a human embracing us both could not have heard her or felt her breath. `I'll stay with you always. But I must see it, don't you understand? A coin for a child.'

would whisper her plea for help to her gentle, admiring patrons, and as they carried her out of the square, her

And then strange things began to happen, for though she said little and was the chubby, round-fingered child

found death fast in those first years, before she learned to play with them, to lead them to the doll shop or the

arms would fix about their necks, her tongue between her teeth, her vision glazed with consuming hunger. They

The vampire nodded.She was to be the demon child forever, he said, his voice soft as if he wondered at it.Just as I am the young man I was when I died. And Lestat? The same. But her mind It was a vampire's mind. And I strained to know how she moved towards womanhood. She came to talk more, though she was never other than a reflective person and could listen to me patiently by the hour without interruption. Yet more and more her doll-like face seemed to possess two totally aware adult eyes, and innocence seemed lost somewhere with neglected-toys and the loss of a certain patience. There was something dreadfully sensual about her lounging on the settee in a tiny nightgown of lace and stitched pearls; she became an eerie and powerful seductress, her voice as clear and sweet as ever, though it had a resonance which was womanish, a sharpness sometimes that proved shocking; After days of her usual quiet, she would scoff suddenly at Lestat's predictions about the war; or drinking blood from a crystal glass say that there were no books in the house, we must get more even if we had to steal them, and then coldly tell me of a library she'd heard of, in a palatial mansion in the Faubourg St.-Marie, a woman who collected books as if they were rocks or pressed butterflies. She asked if I might get her into the woman's bedroom.

arms would fix about their necks, her tongue between her teeth, her vision glazed with consuming hunger. They

know. And to watch her kill was chilling. She would sit alone in the dark square waiting for the kindly gentleman

would whisper her plea for help to her gentle, admiring patrons, and as they carried her out of the square, her

waiting, waiting, as if feasting silently on their terrible kindness.

painted Chinese vases. I did not need the luxury anymore than I had needed it before, but I found myself

The vampire nodded.She was to be the demon child forever, he said, his voice soft as if he wondered at it.Just as I am the young man I was when I died. And Lestat? The same. But her mind It was a vampire's mind. And I strained to know how she moved towards womanhood. She came to talk more, though she was never other than a reflective person and could listen to me patiently by the hour without interruption. Yet more and more her doll-like face seemed to possess two totally aware adult eyes, and innocence seemed lost somewhere with neglected-toys and the loss of a certain patience. There was something dreadfully sensual about her lounging on the settee in a tiny nightgown of lace and stitched pearls; she became an eerie and powerful seductress, her voice as clear and sweet as ever, though it had a resonance which was womanish, a sharpness sometimes that proved shocking; After days of her usual quiet, she would scoff suddenly at Lestat's predictions about the war; or drinking blood from a crystal glass say that there were no books in the house, we must get more even if we had to steal them, and then coldly tell me of a library she'd heard of, in a palatial mansion in the Faubourg St.-Marie, a woman who collected books as if they were rocks or pressed butterflies. She asked if I might get her into the woman's bedroom.

Years passed in this way. Years and years and years. Yet it wasn't until some time had passed that an obvious fact occurred to me about Claudia. I suppose from the expression on your face you've already guessed, and you wonder why I didn't guess. I can only tell you, time is not the same for me, nor was it for us then. Day did not link to day making a taut and jerking chain; rather, the moon rose over lapping waves.

All this Claudia found wondrous, with the quiet awe of an unspoiled child, and marveled when Lestat hired a painter to make the walls of her room a magical forest of unicorns and golden birds and laden fruit trees over sparkling streams.

She wanted a coffin of her own now, which left me more wounded than I would let her see. I walked out after giving my gentlemanly consent; for how many years had I slept with her as if she were part of me I couldn't know. But then I found her near the Ursuline Convent, an orphan lost in the darkness, and she ran suddenly towards me and clutched at me with a human desperation. `I don't want it if it hurts you,' she confided so softly that a human embracing us both could not have heard her or felt her breath. `I'll stay with you always. But I must see it, don't you understand? A coin for a child.'

or woman to find her, her eyes more mindless than I had ever seen Lestat's. Like a child numbed with fright she

And all this time I was educating Claudia, whispering in her tiny seashell ear that our eternal life was useless to us if we did not see the beauty around us, the creation of mortals everywhere; I was constantly sounding the depth of her still gaze as she took the books I gave her, whispered the poetry I taught her, and played with a light but confident touch her own strange, coherent songs on the piano. She could fall for hours into the pictures in a book and listen to me read until she sat so still the sight of her jarred me, made me put the book down, and just stare back at her across the lighted room; then she'd move, a doll coming to life, and say in the softest voice that I must read some more.

still, I'd find her tucked in the arm of my chair reading the work of Aristotle or Boethius or a new novel just come

know. And to watch her kill was chilling. She would sit alone in the dark square waiting for the kindly gentleman

concentration that made her ghostly as she sat there hour after hour discovering the music the melody, then the

over the Atlantic. Or pecking out the music of Mozart .we'd only heard the night before with an infallible ear and a

know. And to watch her kill was chilling. She would sit alone in the dark square waiting for the kindly gentleman

know. And to watch her kill was chilling. She would sit alone in the dark square waiting for the kindly gentleman

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