” “No, mine. As a sex you’re a little under-trained—in affairs. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. “Oh, I can’t thank you. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald.
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