She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free.
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