"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. Wood among them?" asked Jack, eagerly. ‘But that will do for a start.
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