Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. “Whenever they try to take hold of life a man intervenes. ’ ‘So you think she is an émigré?’ Lucilla put in before the incensed Roding could respond. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. “The Miss Pellissier who was at White’s with us.
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