The screams of the unfortunate woman had aroused Thames from his slumbers. Besides, she had admitted her identity. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. " "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.
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