He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. ’ ‘So I heard. ’ ‘They? How many are there?’ ‘Oh, peste. My son went down after his death. He has helped me out of scrapes though, no end of times. 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. "Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland.
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