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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. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. ” She swept out of the room. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves.
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