Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke.
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