She has already forgotten it. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. ’ ‘It could hardly be less so,’ said Mrs Sindlesham tartly. 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. Jeez! It was about time. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. " By this time, the chair had been brought into the Lodge. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other.
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