As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. If only monsieur le baron had said nothing, or perhaps instead accepted the couple as the Valades and agreed to help them. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. 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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