. 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. She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. To reach it would be a most difficult undertaking. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. “I am sure that you are. It's almost worth while being sent to prison to have the pleasure of escaping. ‘Now let’s have it.
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