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It was dawn: Cathy would soon be off to the restaurant and Larry off to paint a house. Did you warn Frith?’ ‘Yes. 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. I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off.
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