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. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. Spurling and Marvel rose too. Interrogation takes many forms, you know, Lucy. Winifred, you are deceived in me. I've a carriage within call shall convey you swiftly to town.
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