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. " "You once saw a man die that way?" the manager echoed, his recent puzzlement returning full tide. Yet the fact remains that you do not understand me at all. " "And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?" asked Sir Rowland. I did what I could to comfort her but she died in terrible pain.
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