Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. He stood before her. I cannot go on. 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. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. . This is the first act. ” “I cannot do it!” he cried hoarsely.
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