She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. “Bless you, sweetheart. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies.
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