But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair. "I am quite easy now; receive my blessing, my dear son; and if we never meet again, rest assured my last prayer shall be for you. 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. ‘How fascinating. He took over, doing his best to rearrange his overly sensitive member back into his pants.
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