For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. He had done his best, pitching with determined fury that resulted in two outs. I ought to have seen—” “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the way I behaved.
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