“Hainault, Celeste’s friend. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. All the jailers declared it utterly impossible he could have accomplished his astonishing task unaided; but who had lent him assistance was a question they were unable to answer. He leaned forward to embrace her. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Quite ordinary.
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