" "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. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. Vorsack would staunchly disapprove of his attire, said nothing anyway. ” She hesitated. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. “Oh, Michelle, I’m such a miserable fool. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning.
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