“I have been in seven wars and four revolutions,” the count said.
“Soldiering?” Brett asked.
“Sometimes, my dear. And I have got arrow wounds. Have you ever seen arrow wounds?”
“Let’s have a look at them.”
The count stood up, unbuttoned his vest, and opened his shirt. He pulled up the undershirt onto his chest and stood, his chest black, and big stomach muscles bulging under the light.
“You see them?”
Below the line where his ribs stopped were two raised white welts. “See on the back where they come out.” Above the small of the back were the same two scars, raised as thick as a finger.
“I say. Those are something.”
“Clean through.”
The count was tucking in his shirt.