“Thank God,” he exclaimed. Wood, delighted at the idea. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. “I dare not,” she answered. Utter silence answered him. 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.
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