He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. If I did not love you so much I believe I could win you by sheer force of character, for people tell me I am naturally of the dominating type. 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. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. It's infernally provoking. I burned it. . He wanted her named Mary.
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