We haven’t. 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. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance.
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