“How can you change people’s ideas if you have no power?” said Kitty Brett. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. 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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