Diable. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. ‘Difficult, I grant you. This year—I’ve got it badly. He threw the doctor out of the Palazzo on his rear, sending him to the insane plague-infested streets. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger.
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