" "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. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. Wood; "to be sure you are! I wonder how you dare show your face in this house, hussy!" "I thought you sent for me, Ma'am," replied the widow, humbly. Lord knew why he had any interest in an impertinent girl who would certainly have spit him with that dagger! He reached into his pocket and brought it out, examining it in the increasing light as he slowly made his way back up the terrace. ‘And if he is dead I know not.
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