"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. 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. Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up.
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