“How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. 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. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. I didn't think.
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