The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. ‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. 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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