” He frowned. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. . ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing. 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. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer.
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