Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. " "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. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. Look at the cock’s feathers, look at the competition there is everywhere, except among humans.
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