“But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. ’ ‘Ah, so you did come here to find someone,’ Gerald responded eagerly. 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. There's a feather in your cap! No house-breaker was ever so highly honoured before. I guess.
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