And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. 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 the dreadful truth. All the jailers declared it utterly impossible he could have accomplished his astonishing task unaided; but who had lent him assistance was a question they were unable to answer. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. ” She said.
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