"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. "And so we're to be summoned from our beds and snug firesides, because a kid happens to squall, eh? By the soul of my grandmother, but this is too good!" "Do you intend to claim the privileges of the Mint?" said Jonathan, calmly pursuing his interrogations amid the uproar. " "Is that all!" retorted Jonathan. You will be—my wife.
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