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. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. That had shut him up for a while. She will not confide in me. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. " "Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?" "Company, child," repeated Kneebone. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager.
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