"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. ” Annabel looked at him curiously. Come back—you must come back. 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. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. Her thick body was heavy and massive.
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