“It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. She saw his purpose and his doubt hesitated also, and then went to him, took his coat lapels, and kissed him on the cheek. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. I should have known at a glance if it was. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQxLjE5My4xNTggLSAwMS0wNS0yMDI0IDE0OjI2OjMyIC0gNTEzODczNzg0
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