“Want one?” Michelle deadpanned. ” The man made no attempt to recover the revolver. 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. The doctor would naturally offer a hundred objections; he might seriously interfere; so he must be forestalled. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. But those days are over—quite over.
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