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. Give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the Lodge at Newgate without loss of time. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt. In fact he was thinking of other things. “How can you know?” “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person. ” Ennison glanced at the other people in the box and smiled.
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