" On the appearance of his visitors, Sheppard arose,—his gyves clanking heavily as he made the movement,—and folding his arms, so far as his manacles would permit him, upon his breast, steadily returned the glances fixed upon him. 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. That is my way, my dear. ” “How delightful!” exclaimed Anna. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly.
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