It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. Warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour, Sharples, who was busied in distributing the Marquis's donation, affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little.
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