I did not lay any traps for her. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. 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. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you.
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