I swear it. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. “Yes, I remember,” she said. Ask your own conscience. Her steps slowed. "Mercy!" screamed Mrs. ‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald. ‘Ah, Madame Joan. 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.
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