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. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. ” “I’m going on working for my degree. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his heart. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented.
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