It was a simple wish. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. "I understand," she said. 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. "And so I want the boy out of the way," he concluded. " "Bull's eye!" piped O'Higgins.
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