"I'm sure he won't attempt to prevent me," rejoined Thames. He certainly bore inspection. 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. ” It did begin to fall into place together. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. ’ ‘In a way she had been,’ said Prudence.
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