" "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. T' other gen'l'man said the letter 'ud explain all. The visitor was the hotel manager, who respectfully announced that the doctor was ready for her. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me.
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