” “It is,” he replied, “the one humiliation of my life. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. 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. I don't threaten idly, as you know. I have work there.
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