The Ragged Edge. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here. ’ She was backing across the room, moving towards the screen. ” “Coarse?” said Capes, “We’re not coarse. " "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. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession.
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