"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. It’s gone. Here again the clothes were minus the labels. They embarked upon an open and declared friendship. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in the streets. Sweatshirts and sweatpants were in for a while but they’re out now. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life.
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