"Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. “You certainly are. ” He drank. “Turn me. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. Wood in a sharp tone. .
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