"Leave the room instantly, sirrah!" rejoined the lady, bouncing up, and giving him a slap on the cheek that made his eyes flash fire. “I would marry your sister anyhow, under any circumstances,” he answered. ’ She grasped the girl’s arm. " "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. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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