" "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. . I want to talk to Mr. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. “Dear me!” he said. . How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance.
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