The Delicate Dependency: a Novel of the Vampire Life
“It took me several vigorous blinks to orient myself. When I finally pieced the world together out of the blur, I saw a well-dressed gentleman standing like a dandy in the middle of the room with his foot upon the chair.
“You did not like Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, Docteur Gladstone?” said a familiar voice as the man stared at the fallen book. To my surprise it was des Esseintes.
I sat up in bed.
“You sleep very late,” he said, walking over to my side. “It is well past midnight. Get up. Get dressed.”
“You’ve changed considerably,” I said, eyeing his attire. He was fastidiously dressed in a black pinstriped suit with a white silk shirt, and a resplendent white orchid on his lapel. His fingers were covered with scintillant opals, as was his stickpin, and he boasted an expensive gilt cane. He was the complete antithesis of the monkish figure; the heir apparent of the loftiest aristocracy.
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