How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon that project. She felt sickeningly empty. 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. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind.
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