Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. ” She stopped short, full of things un-said. 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. She never expected to get her ladyship home alive. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable.
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