“What did it matter?” she cried. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. The Jacobite IV.
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