” “I don’t know who you are,” Ennison said quietly, “but you are a thundering liar. Wild is a friend of yours, I'm sorry for what I said. I told them lies. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. E. 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.
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