"I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. Her husband finally relented. 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 let out a delighted laugh. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. " Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as merrily as before. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while.
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