It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. " "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. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself.
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