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. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. “I want you so much, Lucy.
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