"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. It might be dangerous to thwart him. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. Recollect that.
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