” Annabel, who was looking very well, and who was most becomingly dressed, moved to a seat from which she could command a view of the road outside. 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. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago.
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