"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching.
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