“For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly. 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. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. . He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. We shall have him on his return. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. "Spare me!" Jonathan, however, instead of answering him, searched for his knife, with the intention of severing his wrist.
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