His arms slipped around her waist as they were on the doorstep and he kissed her lips sweetly. " "No more of this," interrupted Thames, "you make the matter worse by these excuses. Can’t face a scandal. She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. 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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