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 cannot stay here," the manager declared. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. She dissected well, and in a year she found herself chafing at the limitations of the lady B. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you.
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