‘Never would he have gone to England. Splendidly. " "Only as a brother?" persisted Kneebone. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. 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. ” “I shall always be grateful to you,” he declared.
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