Only I do not care to write about anything else. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. 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. "If you get out o' that cage, I'll forgive you. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. After that time, I shall place my setters on your heels. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets.
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