The House of The Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck Chapter 26 Page 6

almost bourgeois kindness. Benevolence fairly beamed from his face. But to the boy’s eyes it had assumed a new and sinister expression.

“You are late this morning, Ernest,” he remarked in his mildest manner. “Have you been about town, or writing poetry? Both occupations are equally unhealthy.” As he said this he watched the young man with the inscrutable smile that at moments was wont to curl upon his lips. Ernest had once likened it to the smile of Mona Lisa, but now he detected in it the suavity of the hypocrite and the leer of the criminal.

He could not endure it; he could not look upon that face any longer. His feet almost gave way under him, cold sweat gathered on his brow, and he sank on a chair trembling and studiously avoiding the other man’s gaze.