Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. 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 reference to Major Alderley’s wounds reminded Melusine all at once of the fight they’d had, and its consequence. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead.
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