Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. ’ ‘I have found Mary Remenham’s daughter,’ he repeated. The day is already half over. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold.
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