He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. Jonathan nodded assent. ’ ‘Ah, that explains your surprise. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. It’s not far from twilight. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. ‘I want a word with you, my lad.
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