" "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. Section 3. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough.
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