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) You are all the slender goddesses. It isn’t as though I haven’t done well. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. " The Wastrel advanced. 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.

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