Out of these he selected a faded parchment and restored the rest to safety. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. 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. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape.
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