" "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. The Goopes were the oddest little couple conceivable, following a fruitarian career upon an upper floor in Theobald’s Road. God, how old are they now? They must be teenagers.
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