He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. Given the proper incentive, who could say that he might not likewise go nobly to some fine end? She thrilled. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. “Don’t!” she begged.
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