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" "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. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. Purney's hand-writing," said Jack, advancing, "and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not. ” “I suppose I must have thought so. Gentlemen, I am proud to say that I originated—that I directed those measures. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door.
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