A glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. I couldn’t help the thought. 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. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. You have nothing more to fear from Wild.
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