Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. The door opened. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. But they were too late. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true.
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