Her head rose. With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. 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. This accident rather confirms than checks my purpose.
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