That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. 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. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. “Um, he took me to the Big Apple. “I’m sorry I told you that, Michelle.
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