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. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. In a few minutes more he had made a breach in the roof wide enough to allow him to pass through. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. " "You may rest assured he does not," rejoined Kneebone, emphatically, "but I am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him.
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