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. I was not even sure whether it was loaded. . "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. 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. I want to shout! I want to sing! I am glad! I am glad to be alive because you are alive! I am glad to be a woman because you are a man! I am glad! I am glad! I am glad! I thank God for life and you. The musician. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. He was caked with dried muck.
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