He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me.
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