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. Without Jack, it was certain that she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square. “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. ” The doors at the other end of the hall opened. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. I want a walk.
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