“Why did you make her a ghoul?” The Widower stared at her in very real amazement. She set down the brandy glass. “I didn’t make her a ghoul, Starr,” she said. “She went out and got infected herself.” “Nobody would infect themselves.” “She did. True as I live. Got dirty blood, injected it right into the base of her spine. Always knew she was clever—didn’t know she was that clever. Or that crazy. Lucy lived through the fever, began the change after a week.” The Widower stared into the glass. “Believe me or not, Starr. I wouldn’t have infected Lucy. It wasn’t my way. Sometimes I think I’d let her
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