"I disown you. "'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. 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.
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