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. 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. Her whole conduct and tone had been modest and ladylike. Courtlaw rose to his feet. Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. ‘You would like? And do you imagine that I will tell you?’ ‘Won’t you?’ ‘No, a thousand times.
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