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. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. If so, do not hesitate to tell me. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. ” “Where do you go?” “Oh!—Alps.
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