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. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. Always the other things remained. "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. “They have all been trying to turn my head.
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