" "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. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 22:34:03