“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Oh! Christ! de door's shut! It musht have schwung to during de schuffle!" "Shut!" exclaimed Wild. 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 have seen him? Exactement.
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