He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. Mr. “I suppose I shall have to write an answer. But she found an unknown lady’s discarded garments, and selected some of those that she tried on, sending Kimble off down the secret passage to load them onto the horse she had borrowed—unbeknownst to its owner—from Father Saint-Simon. His smile faded.
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