And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. The place for reading. The burden of decision had been transferred.
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