‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. I spoke a thought aloud. “I shot him. ” She looked away from him. “He knows. The door popped open with a sigh. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns.
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