On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. "Look at him!" Ruth looked. She came to me in a dream.
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