Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. 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. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. Gosse had to release his clamp on her mouth, for the awkwardness of the position made it impossible to negotiate the little stair. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjIyMi4yMzkgLSAyOC0wNi0yMDI0IDA5OjA5OjE1IC0gMTIxNjkwNDY0Nw==
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