"Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. She sat perfectly still, however. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. A native sold his supply of nuts in exchange for cloth, tobacco and so forth. 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’d rather not go,” she added.
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