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. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. Terence, meanwhile, who had followed him, did not remain silent, but recapitulated his story, for the benefit of Mrs. ’ ‘Oh, don’t you?’ Gerald said grimly.
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