Wild has made up his mind, and, when that's the case, all the persuasion on earth won't turn him. I don’t want you to be sad. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjEyMS4yMDkgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDE4OjM0OjEwIC0gMjAxODA5NjQxMg==
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