Having read the three first verses of the impressive service appointed for the burial of the dead, he returned to the church, whither the coffin was carried through the south-western door, and placed in the centre of the aisle—Mr. Lucy's ears were singing. 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. I’m not Gerald, remember. He would know her address to-morrow. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. ” Lucy snickered. ’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly.
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