’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. . Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. She wanted to know.
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