There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. She seemed honestly glad to see him. Later, when the Reverend Henry Dolby entered the Spurlock room, his wife and daughter trailing amusedly behind him, and beheld the strained eagerness on the two young faces, he smiled inwardly and indulgently. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. 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.
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