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. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction. "Go on. " "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. "See how glad he is!" His irony and displeasure subsided. Besides, it was under false pretences.
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