Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, only shadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. . 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. Here he was almost stunned by the deafening clamour resounding on all sides.
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