Then she said--
"God bless you, Jem, for the words you have just spoken. Some years
ago you might have saved me, as I hope and trust you will yet save
Mary. But, it is too late now;--too late," she added, with accents
of deep despair.
Still he did not relax his hold. "Come home," he said.
"I tell you, I cannot. I could not lead a virtuous life if I would.
I should only disgrace you. If you will know all," said she, as he
still seemed inclined to urge her, "I must have drink. Such as live
like me could not bear life if they did not drink. It's the only
thing to keep us from suicide. If we did not drink, we could not
stand the memory of what we have been, and the thought of what we
are, for a day. If I go without food, and without shelter, I must
have my dram. Oh! you don't know the awful nights I have had in
prison for want of it," said she, shuddering, and glaring round with
terrified eyes, as if dreading to see some spiritual creature, with
dim form, near her.
"It is so frightful to see them," whispering in tones of wildness,
although so low spoken.
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