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. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. His hug became an embrace. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape.
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