‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House. 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. It isn't friendly as I thought it would be. "Something worse, I fear," Wood replied.
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