P. G. Wodehouse's The Code of The Vampire

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by K. Howell

I suppose that when people of iron will live and work in close association with one another,there are bound to be occasional clashes, and one of these had recently popped up at the Hyperion Hotel. Cordelia was trying to get me to go on a Round-The-World cruise, and I would have none of it. But in spite of my firm statements to this effect, scarcely an evening passed without her bringing me a sheaf or nosegay of those illustrated folders which the Ho-for-the open spaces birds send out in hope of drumming up custom. Her whole attitude recalled irresistably to mind that of some assidious hound who will persist in laying a dead rat on the drawing-room carpet, though repeatedly appraised by word and gesture that the market for the same is sluggish or even non-existant.

"Cordelia," I said, "this nuisance must now cease."

"Travel is highly educational. Wesley and I need polish. And think how our efforts to identify demons will be improved by seeing them in their native habitats!"

"I can't do with any more education. I was full up years ago. For 150 years, Darla and I ravaged Europe, feeding off of the best minds we could wrangle into inviting us into their homes. I speak 5 languages. Stained glass loses nothing by moonlight. And Wesley is already British. No, Cordelia, I know what's the matter with you. That old shallow spirit has come out again. You yearn for the tang of salt breezes. You see yourself walking the deck in a short skirt. Possibly someone has been telling you about the Dancing Demons of Bali. I understand, and I sympathize. But not for me. I refuse to be loaded in coffin into any blasted ocean-going liner and lugged off round the world."

"Fine, Mr. I'm All Business. Some people have had all the advantages. Oh, oh, oh, incoming!"

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