She still kicked herself for it. Half the rooms empty. ” Her heart leaped within her as she caught that phrase. 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’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another.
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