"You must make a bold push. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. I was his wife. ” She slipped it on her finger, and added, in a voice she tried to make matter-of-fact: “It was given to me last week. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. 196 Succeeded where she had not. "I'll tell you why," he said.
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