The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. She will sail, at early dawn to-morrow, for Rotterdam. "That's well," replied Wild, entering the house, and fastening the door. ‘You are not at all stupid. 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. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved.
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