"I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. “Aren’t we all just odds and ends of humanity —the left-overs, you know. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn.
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