“I wish he had,” she said. He smiled inwardly. Please don’t tell anyone, mister. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. You are in the hands of a wicked, a terrible man, who will not stop till he has completed your destruction. 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. These desperadoes had been the most active in demolishing the coach, and now, being supported by the rabble, they audaciously approached the very portals of the ancient Hall.
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