"If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. Sheppard, eagerly. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. 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. Michelle looked like she was about to throw up herself. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. ‘Oh, peste. So kind, so good to me always. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me.
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