And I have no more the pistol. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. "Open the door, I say, or I'll burst it open.
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