“Oh, you know,” she said. 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. "Don't alarm yourself about him, Sir," replied Austin. “I’m really very sorry. I hid because there was no other way of seeing you. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts.
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