" "A jewel-case!" exclaimed Jonathan. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. 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 make no apology for not being with you now.
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