‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. I am suspected of having shot the man. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom.
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