“He says you are frigid, Madame. 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. He would pursue that little pastime on some other occasion. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. It was easy to imagine great power in such a man. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them.
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