"That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. “I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with 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. And they pay her. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal.
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