His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. His eyes swept down and Melusine felt the quiver at her lips where he gazed. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. And you, Mademoiselle Melusine, will support this claim. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. Griffin.
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