‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. And now YOU’RE on the war-path. ” She replied, smiling awkwardly. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. You've nothing to do but to take possession. " "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. “I can’t keep away from you.
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