\"Didn't have any,\" replied Shari. A few more minutes, and she was safe. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. 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 have always hated it. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality.
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