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His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. "No," answered Jack, approaching her, "though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. But in that reservation it may be she went a little beyond the converse of his view. 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. That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face. ‘She is a maid only, and I do not believe she has married Emile.
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