"Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. “How dare you!” she panted, with her world screaming and grimacing insult at her. 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. “I must live, you know. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. “I don’t know why. He became angry. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. Trifle useful?" he added, slipping a few gold pieces into Jack's hand.
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