"Well, who'd have thought of Shotbolt beating us all in this way!" said Ireton. ‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once. Ann Veronica woke rather later than usual, and lay awake for some minutes before she remembered a certain resolution she had taken in the small hours. 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.
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