"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. Unless we can get some optimism into him, he'll probably start this all over again when he gets on his feet. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic.
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