"Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow morning," continued Wild. Nobody will ever know what the fleas thought. 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. And, now, to find a messenger.
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