She looked away. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. 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. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. " The spinsters nodded approvingly. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place.
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