"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. ‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. ” Her eyes were lit with humour. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily.
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