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. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. Her eyes were wide open with amazement. I'm hungry. ‘Gerald Alderley, I don’t know what you deserve.
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