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She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Wood in a sharp tone. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. But come, sir. ” “Why in Heaven’s name should I forget?” he cried. His tone was rough, almost threatening. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. ” “No. In this attempt he was, however, foiled by the agility of the carpenter, who managed to retreat to the door, against which he placed his back, kicking the boards vigorously with his heel. I was rude and stupid.
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