’ He clenched his fists and grew red in the face. " "She cannot stay here," the manager declared. 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. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. He kissed her lightly on the lips. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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