" "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. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. And the situation it makes!—the situation!” Thus Manning, egotistical, inconsecutive, unreal. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. " "He may learn how to defeat yours," replied Jack.
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