Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. ’ ‘Dieu du ciel! But this is catastrophe. " "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.
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