” “Have I done something wrong? Should I take you home?” “No. . "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. "Is it a bargain?" "Take half of my estate—take all—my life, if you will—I am weary of it!" cried Trenchard passionately. ’ ‘Then they are soldiers. 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. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours.
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