His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. That was what she was trying to make him understand. 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.
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