Never had he been so intrigued. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. 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. He added, ‘Also others, but I don’t recall them. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. I have only just left Wych Street.
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