Come, mon ami, come!’ Ever faithful, Kimble dragged himself into a sitting position, gasping at the pain this caused him. 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 will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr.
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