She was thinking fast now, all her senses on the alert. If you like books and music, we'll get along. 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. " He departed, musing. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. ‘That is true,’ Melusine conceded. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre.
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