“When one wants a thing more than anything else in the world,” she said with outrageous frankness, “one naturally wishes one had it. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. 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. This was the reason he had raised his little independent Company of Light Infantry and joined the West Kent Militia. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible.
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