"'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Gerald said calmly. 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 flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion.
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