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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. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. "
"You never told me what he is like," said Spurlock. . Here," he added, throwing a handbill on the bed, "are
the particulars of the burglary, with the reward for Jack's apprehension. Stanley. Chapter Two
‘Our French friends are beginning to form quite a little coterie,’ remarked
Gerald, covertly studying the group gathered in an alcove at the other side of
Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom. ’
‘Certainly that is true.
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