[75 words]

“Ah,” said an Indian. “I know what my conscience is. It is a little triangular thing in here,” and he laid his hand over his heart, “which stands perfectly still when I do what is right, but when I do what is wrong, it turns slowly and causes much pain. And, if I keep on doing wrong for a long time anyway, by and by the sharp corners wear down and it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

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