We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is.
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