"O, lud!" she cried; "French noblemen in disguise! and so rude as I was! I shall never recover it!" "A good supper will set all to rights," insinuated Kneebone. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. 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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