“Limp,” he answered. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. Bring your liveralong?" "I sometimes wonder if I have any—if it isn't the hole where it was that aches. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate.
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