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. “I feel shabby and disgraced. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. "Come, come, Jack," said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this.
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