" "Have you told him so?" she inquired, reproachfully. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel.
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