But he. The swelling in his limbs had also subsided. She had to wait some minutes in an outer office, wherein three young men of spirited costume and appearance regarded her with ill-concealed curiosity and admiration. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. The pistol fell to the floor. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal.
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