Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour, Sharples, who was busied in distributing the Marquis's donation, affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you.
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