She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. “If I were to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation. 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. “I do hope you will see how things are, and not be offended with me or frightfully shocked and distressed by what I have done. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner.
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