’ At last. Manning, with entirely suitable emotion. 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. She was definitely following him. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. Something in his tone pinched her heart. I am come to rescue you from Wild's violence.
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