He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. Brendon was silent. Ennison,” she said. By and by he ventured to peer into this window. . Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. 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. ‘Pitiful.
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