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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. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear. He was in the house with his mother. "Here," repeated her brother. ‘But tell me this instead. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. " There was a pause.
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