"It is past," said Jack, placing his finger on the trigger. " "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. From your pocket there. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving. We'll come back for that by and by, and the dressing-gown. Sydney sprang up. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. Professing to stand between the robber and the robbed, he himself plundered both.
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