" "Not now—not now!" she returned, with a shudder. 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. We want to celebrate, and we want you to help us. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged.
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