The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. 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. F.
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