The woman I wanted was another man's wife. ” “That’s rather the theory now,” said Ann Veronica. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. 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. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. E.
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