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. I shall count it a privilege. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. She turned her head to each side. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. Lucy stepped inside. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers.
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