" "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. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. ’ She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her. "But pray tell me if her husband has escaped?" "Her husband!" echoed Jonathan scornfully. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant.
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