“I wish that I could forget it,” he said. " "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. . ” “I sent a telegram to say I was all right. ” “Why on earth—? A man ought to be labelled. ’ Disappointment flooded her. This is the first act.
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