176 “No, it’s very good. " Spurlock pointed in the sloping fields outside the walls. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. " "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 crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea. ‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’ ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently.
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