” It was certain that he was not there. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America. 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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