“Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. ” His rhythm slowed to a grind. He staggered back a few paces; and, before he could recover himself, Thames tripped up his heels, and, placing the point of the spike at his throat, threatened to stab him if he attempted to stir, or cry out. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. I hated the stuff.
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