Always as black and bitter as gall. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. 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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