” “There was no need for such heroism,” Annabel said coldly. You haven't heard my side if it, Hoddy. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. 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. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself.
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