’ Gerald frowned. ” “Until some one takes pity on me and marries me?” He raised his eyebrows in mild appeal. You've saved my life. 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. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. ”) Well, they might say that, but he knew very well that before long they would regret it.
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