‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. ” Shari said. These things are difficult. 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. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. " "You might have added 'then'," said Miss Spurlock, drily.
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