. She answered him almost coldly. " "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. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. ’ He quirked an eyebrow. ” He said. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go.
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