John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. 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. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. ’ ‘Was. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen.
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