"We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whispered Poll Maggot. Like a petulant child he snapped. With an open hand, he slapped her face. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. The thing is to get the patient on his feet.
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