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. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. ” “How old-fashioned of you, Lucy. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her.
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