” He leaned towards her. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. 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. “I suppose, Mr. "You two … both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. It seems to me very silly.
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