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 next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. It felt too good. But I don’t wish to hear that abomination on her lips again. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger.
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