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. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. Eluding the blow, Jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a desperate conflict began. “I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife.
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