"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. "This is the explanation of the bloody deed. "By Heaven!" cried Darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom I placed in such jeopardy a short time ago. She was shifting, moving back. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. He knew. She chuckled. “Well, anyhow, consider it open. 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.
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