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. The pistol, it was not loaded. I've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve. Where I am in error, you can set me right. It is different. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty.
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