" "I am here in Canton," she replied, simply. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. I don't threaten idly, as you know. He had kissed his wife on the mouth … and had been horrified! There was real madness somewhere along this road. Glorious! The Pastoral. " "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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