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. ‘Martha was my wet-nurse? But she is unmarried. "I will bear the body. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger.
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