“Sorry to be so terribly rude, Martin. Sheppard despairingly. She breathed deeply. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. ” She said as the car stopped. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. 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. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu.
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