Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. 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 cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. ” “Well, you see, something has happened at home. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed.
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