‘Because I love you. "Swear that you will do this," she cried. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen.
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