“Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. Brendon told him the name of a distant restaurant and sprang in by her side. By this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of Jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females. 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. Kneebone. “Well, I don’t feel like standing it.
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