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. It’s obvious you have eyes for someone else. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. . “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. ‘I’m only surprised you have not released yourself. ” He stood up with his legs parted in an inverted “V”, puffing up, trying to make himself look bigger. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. This is your room.
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