Spurling, "I hope he may never see Tyburn. 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. For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging so that he backed up onto the dais. I've foiled him hitherto, and will foil him yet.
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