" "How?" "Listen to me, Thames. ” “Of course,” said Capes, and threw a newly lit cigar into the fire through sheer nervousness. There was a hint of tears in her voice. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. 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.
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