Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. Well, I told aunt. All the rest of our lives would be together then, Ann Veronica. But this chap is good wine yet. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place.
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