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. Indeed I must. I think you will find that his story will be believed, whatever I say; and in any case, if he is going to stay on here, I shall have to go away. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. There you will be, in an inner temple. "No," replied Jack, peremptorily. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room. Ann Veronica stared at his foolish, propitiatory smile, his hungry gaze, through one moment of amazement, then stepped aside and went on her way with a quickened step. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. She was the High Priestess.
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