Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. There was no longer any risk in association with her. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. 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. "Never mind," replied the tapstress. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. "I've seen him some years ago, I believe," answered Wood; "and, though he must be much changed by this time, I dare say I should know him again. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate.
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