. 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. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. . Thus, in a few minutes, had this happy family been plunged into the depths of misery. Then the incredible happened. " CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly.
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