Very soon she would be able to forget it. . " "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. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. “I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found her heart thumping in her neck. She could not speak. Gerald would certainly have demanded back his sword.
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