‘Did it indeed?’ ‘I should think he’s guessed, don’t you?’ ‘Without any doubt at all. “A most wonderful likeness, too. 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. But, be like a son to her. “Steady on!” he cried. "I don't know what his idea was.
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