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. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Sister’s got married to that bounder Ferringhall. He smiled tenderly.
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