Home!— which I never hoped to see again. 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. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. I was raised in the Church. But come in, dear. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die.
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