Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. ” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’ ‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Our quarrel's quite over. " "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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