” “I don’t care. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. 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. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. I’ve no name for it yet.
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