Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. ” She looked at him with curious eyes. ” “I’m not. 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. "Coupling their presence with Jack's speech, I couldn't help fearing some mischief might ensue. Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl.
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