This was his humiliation as well as hers. She would then partially recall the items that she had heard about him, presenting each at the angle that was the most likely to inflict pain. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously.
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