" "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. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. , probably tried to become a hooker, I don’t know. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture.
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