Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. “But I am your husband,” he said. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. 144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. 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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