‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. 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. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer.
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