He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. The title had formerly been held by Gianfrancesco’s brother, Alessia, now dead of plague. ‘That way. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. Brewis had told him the Valade family had been victim to wholesale murder, and a twinge of compassion had wrung even his deliberately hardened heart. The air was pungent and leaden.
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