When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window. 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. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. When he said, “Let’s go and see the wart-hog,” she thought no one ever had had so quick a flow of good ideas as he; and when he explained that sugar and not buns was the talisman of popularity among the animals, she marvelled at his practical omniscience. If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance.
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