"I have dreamed that I shall see him before I die," she rejoined. 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. ” “Say that again, Lucy, so that the rest of them hear it. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves.
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