” She said, knowing that his kindness was certainly not the primary motivation for his magnum opus. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. 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 has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so.
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