’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. He has a very summary mode of dealing with refractory persons, I assure you. ’ ‘But—’ ‘You’ll get her all over blood again. I know less about this affair perhaps than you suppose. At six o'clock, the wicket was shut; and at nine, the jail was altogether locked up. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it.
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