“Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. Forgive me?” She pleaded. You'd better lose no time. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. She refrained. The door opened. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.
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