She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. " "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. Brutes! They are the brute still with us! Science some day may teach us a way to do without them.
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