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. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. “You will be so late.
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