" "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. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. Something drew you. ” “Is that so wrong, to want to live forever?” “It is wrong to if the price is murder. But that doesn’t alter the fact that there IS innocence. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields.
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