“I’ve gotta go. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. ’ She saw suspicion darken his gaze. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. . ’ His face changed, all the humour and tenderness leaving it in an instant. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room.
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