The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crowbar. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. He called a waiter. In the middle there was a gate. 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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