" "Aye, music hits them. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. "I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred. " "Won't you go?" cried Jack passionately. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. She stood looking down upon him with dilated eyes. 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. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. Courtlaw.
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