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. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. He resolved to judge for himself. Mr. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. Be silent, I say, if you value his safety. " "Come, jump up," cried Blueskin, mounting his steed, "and I'll soon wisk you to town.
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