" Thames was about to reply, but a glance from Wood checked him. The blood will rest on your head. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican. I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. ‘Something in that, missie. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. 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 surprised at his modesty.
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