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. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do.
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