’ ‘Not French?’ echoed Hilary. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. Blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter.
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