“It seemed that the two were "running"—leaping and bounding as if weightless—in close pursuit of their prey, which the Count had sighted: a youth of about fourteen, with a very dark skin, like ebony; a startled white smile, or grimace; and eyes protuberant as the eyes of a panicked pony. This, on lower Witherspoon Street, several blocks below the cemetery; on a night of intermittent moonlight and shadows; like big cats they stole upon the youth, soundless; like cats, cuffing and pummeling and clawing him, as he cried out in terror. The Count drove the boy at Mandy, who drove him back to the Count, with the most deft motions of her hands; then, with a muffled cry, the Count fell upon their prey, sinking his teeth deep in the ebony-dark throat, and deeper yet. The Count reached out to seize his mistress's wild windblown hair, and to tug her to him, that she too might embrace the now paralyzed youth, and suffer the paroxysm of gratified desire.”