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. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. They seemed to her that morning to be all armed with nets and prepared to throw them over her directly her movements became in any manner truly free. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest.
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