"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. " "On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. I do—with all my heart. ‘Come, Hilary. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing.
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