“Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. " "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. \"Just fine, John. See paragraph 1. “But, dear, think! He is your father. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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