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. ’ Melusine jumped. “What do you think of that?” he asked. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual.
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