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. His father and his four brothers had perished, leaving him to collect all of their spoils and various kingdoms. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. .
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