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"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. " Just then, the infant began to sob piteously. 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 went across to the little window again, her back to Melusine. The modern parts of the book were inspired by my worldview of high school as pure, unadulterated Hell.
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