He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. 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. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. .
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