“No, I’m fine. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. We'll get those books into your room first. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE.
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