“Ugh!” she said. " Mr. ” She said. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. 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. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. . ‘Poor Hilary. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. “We may just as well have our talk afterwards,” she said, “and I need not keep poor Mr.
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