“Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear. ” And thus it was that as Ann Veronica neared the gates of home, she said to herself: “I’ll have it out with him somehow. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. 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.
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