His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. I don’t know. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. " "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. Capes joined the students at tea, and displayed himself in an impish mood that sometimes possessed him. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy.
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