‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. Do look at this tragedy in mauve, who has just come in. You're an angel of goodness. 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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