" "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. 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. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her. Then, there shall be laid upon your body as much iron, or stone as you can bear, and more. It is the same with animals.
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