“No,” said her brother, conclusively, “it’s not for a parent to go on persuading a child. He bent over to Anna at once. " "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. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. Not a scar but has its history.
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