"If I could only make you realize what you have done," he said, lamely. She wanted him so badly it hurt. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. 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 called them back very soon. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. You don’t understand. " He laughed and pushed back his chair. “You do not know what you say. ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party.
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