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. "Leave me alone with him a moment," said Jonathan. Half the rooms empty. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive.
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