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” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament. She longed to enjoy human food as he did. Don't lay it all to the boy. ” Michelle’s tone changed from miserable to conspiratorial. 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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