" "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. “If I am to turn you into a vampire, she cannot know. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced.
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