I may tell him, at any rate, that you will see him?” “I shall like to see him,” Anna answered. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. 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.
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