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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. Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. “But I don’t see,” said Ann Veronica, “just how it fits the present situation. With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party.

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