His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. " "Do not distress him, dear father," said Winifred; "he suffers deeply. I am tired, and I want to be alone. 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. This mitigated her remorse enormously. Your aunt and I have discussed all this matter. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated.
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