But the vicomte has said that his sister may remain, but that the daughter must go. When any violent outrage was committed,—and such matters were of daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence,—a bell, the rope of which descended into the hall, brought the whole of the turnkeys to their assistance. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. 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. It’s an instinct.
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