‘Exactement. 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. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. Michelle repeated herself brashly, “A vampire, silly. As I shall take and hold. Waving a white flag, naturally.
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