Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. "Mother, I come to you. If you live, well and good; if you die, well and good. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment.
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