Both of them. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. 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. It is what I have done. A man is so apt to—to take women a little too lightly. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her.
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