After that consolations fled. B. Quick, now. " "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 dare say the best plan will be for me to bring her to see you, after all. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. " "Funny, about that coat. ” “As one friend to another.
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