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. The moment he was out in the hall, Ruth sat up hugging and rocking her body in delight. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. A woman cannot change her soul. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. "I've got a proposition to make," said O'Higgins.
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