She laid her hand upon his arm. Show him no quarter, Poll. Nothing is settled upon. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. As she came close, he took a pace forward and seized her from behind, one strong arm clamping her tight against his chest, the free hand seizing her about the mouth, stifling the cry that gurgled in her throat. “There are two things to be done,” he said softly to himself.
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