He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. 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.
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