It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. Pierre. He patted the hand on his sleeve. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand.
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