I'm burning to get to work. That’s Italians for you. 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. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. McClintock was in a gay mood at dinner that night; but he did not see fit to give these children the true reason. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all.
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