She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. But this was a vicomte’s sister. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. ‘To me, quickly!’ There was a brief hush, and then the shouts resumed and several pairs of feet clattered towards her from, as it seemed, several directions.
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