’ Taking the chair she had indicated with a careless wave of one stiff-fingered hand, Gerald felt hope burgeoning. Before it is too late. And it hampers us. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. 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. Fear nothing.
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