"Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. I didn't understand then, but I do now. “If you say so, my pet. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. Fear nothing. 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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