Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. For nothing they kiss. ’ The sergeant’s air became positively avuncular. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security.
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