" "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. “I’ve got it. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. Hoddy. ‘Sindlesham? But Gerald has gone out of town to visit that very person.
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