" The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. Don’t take revenge on him because I’ve wronged you. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. Cathy appeared in her bathrobe. " "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. “I was very foolish to have been deceived even for a moment. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. We'll have him yet. She crushed the letter in her hand. '—'They can't,' says I.
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