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. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. She shook her head. \"You should go out with him. Rhea commanded her.
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