laws alone swamp our small staff. . To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. 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. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen.
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