“My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. They're on the forward lounge in the saloon. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. “Ann Veronica has never looked quite so well, I think,” said Capes, clinging, because of a preconceived plan, to the suppressed topic.
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