I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. 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. A door in this house opened upon the yard.
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