"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone. ’ ‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’ ‘I will ask—’ She broke off. "She considers her future blasted beyond hope. “My word holds,” she said. I’m not to study, I’m not to grow.
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