‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. "Now stand before me, Poll. ‘It is imbecile that you are. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. The quarry had passed out into the open sea. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance.
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