“Curious case,” said Ogilvy, buttering his bread and cutting it up in a way he had. 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. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. If you don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare worse later. " Romance! The Seven Seas are hers.
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