The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. 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. ’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of.
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