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. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. “My dear, can you see in this light? I think I would like to get in. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. E. Now, I know you can restore him to his rights, if you choose.
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