And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. 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 had no intention of fighting fair. The Jew swallowed it at a draught.
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