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 prayeth best who loveth best—all things both great and small. Reconnoitring them through a small grated loophole, he refused to open the door till they had explained their business. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese.
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