‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began. "I'm your dupe no longer. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. And before Kneebone could draw his sword, he felled him to the ground with the iron bar. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Ask your own conscience. Sanguine they were not.
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