The struggle was brief, and Gerald stepped aside, the pistol in his possession, while the girl Melusine stood trembling and glaring. He saw three people: a young man at the piano, an elderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in a chair, her eyes closed. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. I am tired, and I want to be alone. It’s not you—not a bit. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off.
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