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 are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. ” She had a moment of sheer panic at the thing she had done. “I shall never be able to thank you. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would.
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