. ” She took a step. ” “I’m afraid it can’t. I will take her away and make her serve me as my wife. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. 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 had changed identities absolutely. ‘If ever I met such a pair of lunatics!’ ‘Give me that, Hilary,’ Gerald said at once, ignoring his remark and reaching out for the handkerchief. .
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