CHAPTER XXIV. 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. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. " So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room. " He ignored the command. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid.
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