" "By Heaven!" cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, "it is true—as true as my affection for you. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. I can’t help you a cent. And immeasurable was the calm evolved from this knowledge. Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. “Feel better.
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