What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. " "What a life!" "No worse than yours. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. 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. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees.
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