She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. “Please have a seat. Take it, if I die. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. His heir is dead, yes, and his name and title available to me. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door.
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