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. " "Did I hear you aright?" asked Trenchard, with startling eagerness. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly.
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