" "Enough," returned Jackson, extending his hand; "and if I've expressed myself warmly, I'm sorry for it likewise. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp. From me. 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. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. I’m not discussing Shakespeare.
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