Shari was snoring soundly. After all, why need one look down. Men are against her. But David Courtlaw has been here. At last his voice came to release her tension. 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. One mistress enough to ruin a man,—two, the devil. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist.
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