She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. " Jack made no answer, nor did he even cast his eyes upon his follower. 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. Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry.
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