You must keep out of the way till it's blown over. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. 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.
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