But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. 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.
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