’ The familiar hollow opened up inside Melusine’s chest, and she could not prevent the husky note that entered her voice. 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. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. He kissed her cheek. He looked at her guiltily.
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