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Sheppard. In this state of knowledge you will be horribly, irrevocably, alone. " "He couldn't help it, Ruth. "Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it. 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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