Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. See, it is on my cards—M. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. "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.
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