Los Angeles, 1935. Bill was greyer than the Incredible Hulk wearing a stupid smoking jacket in like a Jazz Agey bullshitty sitting room, and reading -- as though he knew in 74 years this would come up -- Gods & Monsters Of Ancient Greece and looking a ponce. Lorena appeared in a gorgeous emerald gown, even weirder than usual because her eyebrows had vanished altogether, replaced by drawn-in imposters. There's a real Buffy-ness to this episode that I don't feel like enumerating. It's a shame writerwise, because trust your instincts please, they are good, but there's a seriously gameface look resulting from Lenore's lipstick and nasty chola eyebrows.

Soon enough we see the situation for what it is: Bill had become something of a homebody, due to feeling like a fraud, which he was, and bad at being a monster, which he really is, so he stayed home and read old books while Lenore was out having fun and desperately trying to forget how badly she miscalculated him. And how could it not go wrong? She created the perfect husband from the clay, loving him for his kindness and gentility, and guess what: that's what was earning her hate now, and what she'd succeeded in getting him to hate for a little while. But as my grandmother used to say, "Breeding tells."

So Lenore put that necklace on, and went out and found herself a choirgirl just like the one that used to own it. The last time he really loved her, or made a good enough showing that she could believe she wasn't alone. She went out and found herself a choirgirl and said to herself, "This is the one that will bring him back to me." Like she read it in a magazine: "Fifty Ways To Put The Spice Back In Your Maker/Progeny Relationship, Long After It Should Have Died."

And the girl was perfect, and she brought her home. Excited, and hateful and derisive at the same time, begging him to play along. "Frances is in the chorus," she spit, grinning. "She has real talent!" She made the girl dance for him, clapped viciously as she did, with a hilarious Jenna Maroney mug, until he stopped the record. For the last time. "Don't mind him. He's in one of his moods." She was sickened by Bill's disgust as he was by her behavior, but underneath it she was just ashamed of herself: Bringing home some poor girl, into their bed, just to bring him to life again. Just so he'd wake up and bite, and feed, and love her again. The lengths we're prepared go to, just to be loved. He grabbed her away from the girl, and reiterated how he'd stopped feeding, forever. Lorena popped fang behind the glamoured girl's back, running fingers across her neck. If the lights were a little lower, she'd have been perfect. "She smells like apricots. Remember those?" He stepped forward, fangs popped of their own accord, and at her bidding he almost fed.