She turned off the light and approached the window. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. “How fortunate I am, Miss Pellissier! All day I have been hoping that I might run across you.
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