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. The bodies had been found in the river without their heads, which were busy decomposing in a ravine. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear.
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