I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. I will be as silent as the grave. "You're wanted. 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. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me.
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