” Annabel pulled up her veil. This vessel is now in the river, off Wapping. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. "But clear the room of this rabble, if you have sufficient authority over them. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. " "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.
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