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’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. Gentlemen of the Mint," added he, pointing with his truncheon towards Mrs. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. I did not even know where to write and thank 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. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door.
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