"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. We close the chapter. White?” she asked, laughing. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. She was slowed down by the icy wind that punctuated itself in screams around houses and trees. “In any case, there is probably some mistake. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off.
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