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. Courtlaw sat with folded arms. ’ ‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. Quick, now. " "Fine! I'll be wanting a guide.
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