She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind. It was instantly burst open, when the horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a receptacle for the murdered victims of the thief-taker. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. 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.
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