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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. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. It shall never be said that I raised my arm willingly against a woman. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. No— no, it must never be. Mark stayed away from Lucy, which was just as Sheila liked it. The wards on the right were occupied by male patients, on the left by the female. I had never dreamed of such a friend as you. I don’t know anyone.
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