And afterward her mother and Alice kissed long and clung to each other. 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. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring.
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