” She paused again. . ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault. " "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. They were loath to admit to the public that the case would be closed in a few years for sheer lack of forensic evidence.
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