. "You," answered Jack, abruptly. 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. \"Hi. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. "I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness. “I suppose there’s no way of getting a decent income—independently.
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