” “Think not,” that young man remarked laconically. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. And you have stolen my dagger. . Wood will be here presently. 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. “Why don’t they wait?” he added.
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