The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. “It was a phase,” she said. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. She reached for the door handle. A severe pang shot through Jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he possessed them to have seen his friend once more. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. “Yeah. ‘I have justice.
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