He was always in a state of semi-intoxication, but he was always gentle with me. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. 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. So long. She came to befriend the female mistresses, some who were even so audacious as to bring their children into the house.
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