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. She could not say a word, much less move. In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. She said as much to him. " "Then, we'll lose no more time," returned Jack. “Is Larry already in bed?” Cathy nodded yes. ” He stood still, looking at her. His literary instincts began to stir.
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