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. 126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub. "And now, Sir," he said, preparing to take his departure, "will you add to the obligation already conferred by informing me where I can meet with Mr.
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