She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. I have had my day; and there were women in it. What you say is probably all true and necessary. 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. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air.
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