"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. “It is just a look. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. And so I'll tell you what I did —" And she burst into a laugh that froze Jack's blood in his veins.
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