" "But I was intoxicated!" "So was the man you just fought in this room. 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. They are not your children, they never were. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall.
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