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. You’re tired, of course. Married the other and ran off after Mary died. Still—you must learn for yourself. ‘You’ll make shadows. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes.
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