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. ‘What a fate he finds for me. ‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square.
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