Never. You were probably robbed in Hong-Kong. You have neither reason nor logic. Darrell stopped, and drew his sword. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself.
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