Never mind. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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