"By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. It is repulsive. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command.
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