“I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. He did not quarrel with Rowland's profusion, for his own revenues were ample; but he did object to the large sums lavished by him in the service of a faction he was resolved not to support. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving. Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street.
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