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. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. Quilt Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. And lunged once more.
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