” A little blond creature close at hand suddenly gave way to a fit of hysterical laughter, and caught up the end of it with a sob. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. ” “Upon my word,” he declared, “you are right. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. . 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.
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