"I'll be their substitute. ” “Fame!” “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr. E. 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. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased.
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