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He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. “Round midnight, I think. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel.
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