It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. “Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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