He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. 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. Austin, may repeat it if he pleases to his master, Jonathan Wild,—I have not. . His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. “It was the night you left Paris.
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