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. But he might have crept along the left side of the pier, and beneath the further arch; whereas, Wood, as we have seen, took his course upon the right. And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here. ‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do.
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