You need not be afraid. 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. She trembled; but she did not know why. “She contrives somehow to strike the personal note in an amazing manner. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. Then the lady smiled and her radiance, even in the darkness, warmed Gerald unexpectedly. "Read that," rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard.
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