Frenchman Street had been decked with lanterns last night, and the jazz clubs thronged with revellers, their faces made oddly skull-like by the half-lights. A bottle of Restoration Ale firmly in hand, you accidentally trod on somebody's foot when exiting the Black Cat. The girl was Creole, and young, and startlingly beautiful, but her mouth twisted into a snarl, and she muttered something under her breath...
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