I will return to Manchester at once. But I will never—never return. 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. He cabled to New York: "Probable destination known. If you like books and music, we'll get along. He refused. . You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness.
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