" She laughed; and it was pleasant laughter in his ears. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. It suited him to dampen the spirits of any who sought to impose upon him, as these relics of the loathed family of Valade seemed like to do. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. 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. “Going to visit our little friend the vampire?” “What?” He asked, incredulous.
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