To be exact, it was just sixteen hours and twenty minutes. She glanced at him. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction. She let him have it all, as it was, after all, for the last time.
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