” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly. 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. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. . . Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. Trenchard was tempted to examine the contents of some of these cases, but a closer inspection made him recoil from them in disgust. *** From the corner of her eye, Melusine saw Gerald move towards her and she turned to confront him, the confused turmoil in her mind causing her chest to tighten unbearably.
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