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Her cheeks were aflame. McClintock had brought from Penang three mangosteen evergreens; and, wonders of wonders, they had thrived —as trees. 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 have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 22:10:56