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. ’ Emile reached out both hands and grasped her shoulders. ’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy. She had had two days of employment-seeking now. Nobody who cared. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness.
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