They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. 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. "Never give in. He had very nearly cleared the board, when a knock was heard below, and descending at the summons, he found his two janizaries. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. Stanley pronounced, and seemed to hesitate whether he had not gone too far.
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