I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. 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. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. .
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