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I’m a soldier, you see. “Lucy Albert, sir. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. Warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour, Sharples, who was busied in distributing the Marquis's donation, affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. I want to leave it for ever.
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