"But I soon shall be," returned Jack; "take these," he added, flinging the handcuffs against the wooden partition, "and wear 'em yourself. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. She could not part with dignity. Never mind.
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