"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. “Ann Veronica,” he said. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Let—it—fall. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. But d—n him! let's talk o' something more agreeable.
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