In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once
because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her
mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. "It is
Jonathan. I somehow understood. "
"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. Sooner or later she’s going to run away again, and I
want Frith to follow her and find out where she’s living. The noose was at its
throat when I called for help. There was no rush. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch
Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she
attributes all her misery.
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This video was uploaded to gnusocial.club on 01-07-2024 23:15:41