The burden of decision had been transferred. 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. It may bring us together again. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “I came here this afternoon hoping particularly to see you for a few moments before you signed that contract. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere.
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