1. This done, he unloosed the pulley, and the ponderous machine, which resembled a trough, slowly descended upon the prisoner's breast. 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. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. You are a detective?" "Yes. He was caked with dried muck. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say.
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