We were hunting and were separated from the rest of the hunters, so I said, ‘There are ways for a man to escape his wife where no one is harmed. It feels like it. 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. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. Maggot held up a lantern, which she found in the shop.
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