In fact he was thinking of other things. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. Almost light-heartedly. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. . 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.
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