She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. 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. ” As Lucy got up to fetch Michelle a box of tissue, her mind spun wildly. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted.
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