‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. " "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. " Ruth laughed. Stanley lost patience. I don’t want to hear you. So he was forced to shift and proceed at another angle, forgetting his promise to McClintock to be temperate.
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