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And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. " Spurlock lowered his voice. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. Your mother arrived, and she knew me for what I was, she whispered to me curses against werewolves and vampires when I was alone in a room with her. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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