Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. 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.
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