82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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