The bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. 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. Promise me. You MUST not, you SHALL not go. ’ ‘But what have I done?’ protested Gerald innocently.
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