” “It’s very kind of you—” began Ann Veronica. 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. Men usually do. ’ ‘What is all this about your proof?’ demanded Roding, diverted. As usual, Lucy traced over parts of her experiences in her confidences with Shari, skipping lightly over her own 10 story as a pebble would over a lake.
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