He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. “Exactly. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony. Plote was sleeping or deaf. " Prudence shrugged. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. “She is likely somewhere on the road or perhaps in town, finding victims.
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