"Shall I shoot him?" "Yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried Mrs. " "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. davidevansbailey. " "Never!" cried Mrs. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. All she needed to do was to have a body. Wood, at the top of her voice. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion.
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