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. Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. “Because I hate you!” She spat. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves.
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