Wood. " "I'd rather lie here for ever, than be indebted to you for my freedom," returned Thames. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. I speak no harm of her. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. 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. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it.
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