"I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. 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. Managers and accountants are always shifting about, so he tells me. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. "I don't see why I should be obliged to pay for doing my duty. And you’d better have her fetch in some food for the missie, an’ all. Were such a thing to happen again, I'd never let Mr.
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