1. 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. ” Anna drummed impatiently with her fingers against the arm of her chair. He drew her away from this thought. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. I am an old friend, and I declined to be shelved. But I can't account for it!" "At all events, you shall answer for it," thundered Wild, with a bitter imprecation. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg.
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