“No, those are my brother’s dog tags. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty. It was Annabel’s. 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. ’ Melusine’s instant annoyance must have shown in her face.
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