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. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. ’ ‘I’m hanged if I can make out either of you,’ complained Hilary. . Jonathan nodded assent. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert.
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