She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. But after a time I learned the ways of the parrakeets, and they would come down to me like doves in the stories. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. "But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me. 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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