ood from the guillotine in bottles like the citizens in the Committee of General Security and bring them back to savor leisurely. "
"You make sense, Jeanne. They have no blood in their own veins, only what they''ve sucked from the poor wretches on the guillotine."
"We drove away the old bloodsuckers, only to invite the real ones in," the philosopher among them licked his lips.
Edith didn''t listen any further, but she didn''t join in the conversation either. She fled the square like escaping.
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She pushed open the door of the Saint-Clemonts, but only saw Raphael inside.
The former nobleman sat some distance away from the table, legs apart, leaning back on the chair, the collar of his white shirt gaping open. His hollow blue eyes were fixed on some distant point. His hair was tied back with a ribbon, yet unable to make that pinched face look any more spirited.
"Raphael? Where''s Charlene?" she asked.
He pointed expressionlessly to the room behind him. "Charlene is inside, tinkering with her chemical experiments."
"Edith, is that you?" Charlene''s voice came from the door of the inner room, not quite clear. "Please wait outside for a moment, I need to tidy up here. I''ll be out soon."
Edith sat down at the table and noticed that Raphael was constantly rubbing the handle of a knife in his hand. He gazed at the gleaming blade with a look of longing. For a moment Edith felt that the glimmer was even reflected in his pupils.
Suddenly, as if unable to resist temptation, he pressed his entire thumb against the sharp blade. In an instant, bright red droplets of blood flowed down from the edge and dripped onto the table with a pitter-patter sound. But he did not even furrow his brow, just increased the pressure on his finger.
She was shocked and immediately stood up, grabbing his hand with the knife: "What are you doing?!"
"I heard that when horses run out of breath, they bite their own veins and let the blood flow. That may make them feel a little comfortable, right?" Raphael said with a strange smile,"I want to try it too."
As he reached for the bottle to his side with his left hand, his sleeve slid down, revealing the pale wrist marked b