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. ‘Keep still, for God’s sake! Hilary will send him off all right and tight, never fear. “I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe. I never hunt the human tiger without being armed. He had an appointment in Jersey, you know, after he left the army. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. He felt the first sting of the whip. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. So I made haste and recovered.
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