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. He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. I decline to waste a single second even in considering the ugly ones. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends.
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