"Ruth, you must not come and sit on the threshold. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. He paced faster, stomping around. “Stupid cow. ‘Hilary, you must stop referring to mademoiselle as “she”. Sheppard. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. 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 have said good-bye to it all.
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