There is no further hope. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. 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. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. . She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning.
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