“I came to London,” said Ann Veronica, “rather because of my own difficulty. 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. . . " The words were scarcely pronounced, when Rowland disappeared. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary.
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