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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. Melusine gave herself a little mental shake. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. “I do,” he answered. Wood's anxiety grew so insupportable, that he seized his hat with the intention of sallying forth in search of them, though he did not know whither to bend his steps, when his departure was arrested by a gentle knock at the door. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. Then she saw him.
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