You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Ain't you, Jacky darling?" "Not quite, Poll," returned Mr. But that was all over. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. ’ ‘Addlepated imbecile, Hilary,’ corrected Gerald calmly. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers.
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