Part 2 They received the guests in their pretty little hall with genuine effusion. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. 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. "I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said. A series of photographs were taken of them: her on the stairs, the couple of them on the stairs, the couple of them in the kitchen, him pinning a red rose corsage with great care and acute sexual frustration.
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