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. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. " "Would he had done so!" cried Jack. ” “When?” “At tea. “Women know these things by instinct,” she answered. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London.
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