" "I'd good reasons for placing it there, Sir; but don't question me about them now, or you'll drive me mad," returned Mrs. 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. She said that? To be closer to you?” “I think she is plotting something, though I cannot guess what. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred.
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