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” “You mean—you think——” “Hush! I think that he was concealed in my room, and Annabel and he met there. To tell someone who is kind and who will understand!" "There, there!" he said. ‘Point it at me. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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