Then she stood up and looked around the room. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. “Much better. He turned, expecting to see his wife. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. 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. Charley Pevenill was our host. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. ” Lucy put the back of her hand to Michelle’s forehead.
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