"I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. 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 is the bottom of the cup, where all the dregs appear to settle.
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