" "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. "I forbid you to do that. Then the incredible happened. I don’t want to hear you. " "No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt. " "We'll be waiting for you.
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