” He looked at her thoughtfully. 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. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. But about the unknown Englishman she was not so satisfied. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. Be kind to her. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest.
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