Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. I went to her rooms to-night. It is a matter of degree. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. She is in the hall now. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself.
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