“Eight, Cavendish Square. “Not much. 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. He caressed her tenderly, with no trace of the Sebastian who had previously knocked her off her feet with a slap across the mouth. It rather astonished him. .
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