‘Then he went stark staring crazy, if you ask me. He refused. 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. “Not to-night,” she said. You think everything is harmless and simple, and so forth.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjIuMjQ4LjEgLSAyNi0wNi0yMDI0IDEyOjMzOjEwIC0gMTM2OTU4NjEzNg==
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