Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Irregularly, in a quite inglorious and unromantic way, you know, I am a vicious man. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. " "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. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms.
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