"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support.
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