It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “You need a reason. I wish to prevent a repetition of any such errand as I presume you have come here upon this evening. Wood rushed instantly to meet them. It was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own coin—ha! ha!" "A countryman of yours, Terry?" "Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt—more's the pity! You've heard of the Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?" "Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!" "That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. But go on. ” “I thought so,” Courtlaw said.
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