"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. "This is our last transaction together. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. You must know that. And you’re as clean as fire.
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