And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. "Good gracious! so I do," exclaimed his amiable consort. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder.
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