How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Show him no quarter, Poll. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. But threats and entreaties—even promises were ineffectual; and the unlucky captive, after exhausting his powers of persuasion, was compelled to give up the point. Anticipating this, Wild avoided the shot by suddenly, ducking his head. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind.
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