And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. ” She replied gently. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I am going to take a liberty. 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. ” “Yes,” she said, and abruptly she liked him enormously.
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