” “You do not deny that you are my wife,” he asked hoarsely. 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. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. With this view, he descended the hill and presently found a footpath leading to the church.
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