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. He proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for him by the ladder. Kneebone, who was on the point of departing. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her. I want to leave it for ever. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock.
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