She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully.
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