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. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. I know now what it is to be an abandoned female. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. To such characters, fine actions are in themselves sufficient. CHAPTER IV. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it.
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