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. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace.
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