CHAPTER XIII. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. “How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. "No!" she cried. \" She tried not to stare at Shari who had resumed 11 sipping the drugged cocoa. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. She was given a glimpse of his soul. 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.
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