"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. “One would think I had said nothing about the matter. I—well, I borrowed Anna’s name.
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