“It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. 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. ‘When you say it like this, certainly it appears absurd. "Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. Half a minute, Vee.
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