The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. So he dashed himself from the highest turret of the castle he had made to the rocks below!” “Lucy, open the door, it’s me, Martin. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off.
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