She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. This one too she read. ’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow.
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