To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. 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. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. " "Alice in Wonderland!" cried Prudence, perhaps a little enviously.
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