The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. He had studied alchemy and astronomy, was a capable painter, and even wrote music. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. There was a man, a boy, and a woman. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to.
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