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. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. Not all of us, but some of us. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart.
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