It was no marriage at all. It disgusts me that you should touch me. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house.
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