No surprise, for Melusine was aware no Frenchman in his situation would dream of walking abroad unarmed. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Hang the wench! Roding was right. "But, if I should not return, take this purse to Edgeworth Bess.
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