She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. She had heard Alice talking and crying at the same time, a painful noise. Lucy propped Michelle against a thick, knobby tree stump. Never did I need a rescue so much. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. 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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