“Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. . ” There came a silence again. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. It’s—it’s a social difference. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. 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 moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone.
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