She heard him come in; the light burned on. And, lastly, there's Mr. “Tut, tut!” he said. 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. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said.
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