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I can't bear it. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. He could not kiss Ruth. I think we will soon, though. 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. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one.
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