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. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared. " "Dying!" echoed the knight. The satisfaction of cheating Death again. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back.
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