Brendon was silent. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak.
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