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. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. Brown. However, I'll make a last effort to save the poor little creature, if it costs me my life. "My child!" he groaned faintly. ” She put her face closer to his.
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