“It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. 8 or 1. 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. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. ” “It is all the world to me.
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