"Well?" he whispered. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. Michelle’s eyes were red and bloodshot. ‘You wish a life of obedience? So be it, Mademoiselle Charvill. ’ ‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him. Lucy arranged her hair as Michelle had taught her instead of combing it out. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance.
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