” Annabel laughed softly. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. “She will take her risk,” she answered. Lost me place, that’s all. 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. "Never heard of a sing-song girl; never heard of a geisha! Flower of the Lotus: the sing-song girl called her that. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Anticipating this, Wild avoided the shot by suddenly, ducking his head.
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