Lucy finished Michelle off, leaving only a dry, unrecognizable husk. "What should I do here alone if I were an enemy? But, come, don't let us waste time in bandying words, when we might employ it so much more profitably. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. 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.
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