" "Knock him on the head," thundered Sir Cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us. " "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. Thanks. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne.
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