"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. Then Mike came along. “You need not be alarmed,” he said. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. He thrust out a rhetorical hand.
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