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. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. . No need to do such things. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. ” “I haven’t told any one the amount,” he went on. . Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression.
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