Life is so good. 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. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels.
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