Plote was sleeping or deaf. That is why I called myself Anna. 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. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered.
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