” She said. 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. Moving to the shuttered window, Melusine dragged the heavy drapes back. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. ‘Oh, peste. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer.
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