She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. 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. Sebastian howled with laughter, doubling over.
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