The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. ’ ‘Remenham House,’ exclaimed Trodger, who had been watching this interchange open-mouthed. " "Never fear," replied the lady. 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. ’ A derisive snort greeted this passage.
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