"Don't think to deceive me by your false pretences. ‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was ready. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. ” He intoned. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild.
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