’ ‘Don’t start arguing again, for God’s sake,’ snapped Roding irritably, dragging out his own large pocket-handkerchief. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. He pushed her small hand into his jeans. "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. Like the flaws of an old marble. ” “You’re lucky to live in an age when you can do so. 1. I expect Mr. All right really. .
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