" The little urchin set off, and presently returned with the sexton. 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. " But seeing that no notice was taken of the retort, he drew a little aside, and folded his arms, muttering, "This whim will soon be over. ” That night was the most intolerable one that Ann Veronica had ever spent.
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