The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. ’ It was the Press who forced the identity upon me. “It is not that. Possessed of you, I shall have a treasure such as kings could not boast. 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. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
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