Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. ‘I don’t know that I dare. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. 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. The Ragged Edge. The picture might easily apply to The Tigress: outwardly disreputable, but richly and comfortably appointed below.
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