This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. Nowadays, from the looks of it, people were lining up to become vampires.
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