What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. 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. She was nearly too giddy still to answer him. ’ He sighed. Wagstaff. Hugging him in the beautiful dress in front of the teenagers was strangely soothing to her. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. Miss Mary to the life. She had braved all obstacles to pursue her dream. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. " "I'm sorry.
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