Later, she would sew it on. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat 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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