“In a sense—yes. The Jacobite. “Katy Pfister. There never is much left for me. 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. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs.
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