He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so.
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