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. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. Miss Ellicot, for instance, considers me a most improper person. Except he was the only idiot who would stay. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. “I had no idea that it was so abominably late. I heard only after it was all over. There was more shouting.
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