And the woollen-draper departed. 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. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. It makes wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough for Punch. When is the game?\" She did her best to overhaul her own appearance for 63 the greater part of an hour, blotting lips, fluffing the brush over her face. ” She felt, with a sudden horror, that she might weep. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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