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A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. But, perhaps, you'll first accompany me to my dwelling for a moment, that we may arrange our accounts before we start. 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. His advice was mostly practical.
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