The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. “I don’t believe there is one. “Then—then we can talk things out. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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