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. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. The villain has enjoyed his security too long.
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