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. Adieu! my charmer. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. “He ran some Austrian fellow off. He would always be her friend, too. Then I cross-checked it with the name Alberti. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage.
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