I’m sorry Lucy. " "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. It was in this state that Mark McCloskey caught her. He declined to come in. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir.
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