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. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. " "Well," said Sister Prudence, "remember, I tried to save you some future heartaches. Give me that picture, or I'll make you!" "Hear me," said Thames, calmly; "you well know you're no match for me. ” “Far away?” “I have no idea,” Anna answered.
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