’ ‘Unfair!’ echoed his junior. 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. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. ‘All this gadding about. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. "Well," she said, in reply, "I may have done Jack an injustice. “What can you do?” she asked.
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