‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. There's not his peer among the peerage. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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