’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again. He gave her silence in return. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. " "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. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one.
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