“Mr. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. She was like an angel with one wing. " "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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