"It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag. London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. So am I. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. This he accomplished by holding the chain that connected them firmly between his teeth, and squeezing his fingers as closely together as possible, succeeded in drawing his wrists through the manacles. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. What's all this about, anyhow? You. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.
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