"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. Besides these plunderers, there were others with whom the disposal of their pillage necessarily brought them into contact, and who seldom failed to attend them during their hours of relaxation and festivity;—to wit, dealers in junk, old rags, and marine stores, purchasers of prize-money, crimps, and Jew receivers. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill.
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