E. I fight. 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. Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. Gerald caught the look and slipped the weapon into his pocket.
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