Still, in spite of her glances and gestures, Mr. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. " "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.
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