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. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. Well, I shall be sorry to lose him, Mr. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place.
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