“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. Alper ve arkadaşları, köylerine döndüğünde, hazine ile dönmemişlerdi, ancak köylerini ve kendilerini değiştirmişlerdi. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. 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 the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal.
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