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. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. People, nobody, can do as they like in this world. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. Her two new friends did their best to entertain her.
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