Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. 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. And the less “anything” happened the better. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. I shall always be kind to him; I sha'n't bait him. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. With each step his heartbeat increased exponentially. And not a worthy tome in sight. “I’m not nearly so sure as you. He had particular reasons for wanting to keep Spurlock away from the jetty.
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