"I'm sorry," she said. " When the doctor entered the bedroom and looked into the faces of the culprits, he laughed brokenly. Now, Sir. It was a letter. "You see?" Ruth said. 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.
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