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“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. I am far too much the gentleman. I know nothing of that young lady. He—wanted to marry me. It was impulsive and natural. The unexpected twist—his disclosure to McClintock—had given Spurlock but temporary relief. Now I do. " "Bring him here,—let me see him—let me embrace him—let me be assured that he is safe, and I am yours. . "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. " Prudence shrugged. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. ” He did not look at her.
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