But oh, how weary I am! I know. 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. "Only sprained it a little, that's all," answered Thames; "the pain will go off presently. Sheppard towards an appalling object in one corner. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris.
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