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. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. As they're so fond of each other's society they shan't part company even on that occasion, but shall swing from the same tree. “But your hair,” he gasped.
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