She formed a wild resolution, and, lest she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it. He shook his head. She always left the table when they began to smoke. He had to know the truth, Melusine. 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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