Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Melusine grasped the hilt of the sword she had been carefully holding, and came out into the light. . Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen. Stanley. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men.
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