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. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. She was poor. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. I have worn it for weeks and weeks.
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