" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. His spirits began to rise. org/donate Section 5. 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. Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. The job is easy. And this is not France, you understand.
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