"By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. 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 had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table.
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