Ireton, and his two satellites, Austin and Langley. In the upper hall he paused to listen. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. Loving was better than that. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.
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