Wood, in equal trepidation. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. 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 saw the blood come as he rolled over. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at.
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