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. . She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Section 3. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel.
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