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. Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference. “John, did those roses cost a fortune?” “Like I’m going to tell you!” “Oh, John, they were so pretty, but they must have cost an arm and a leg, and you should be saving for college. I could not have committed this robbery. Rich folks, once. You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. I want to love him. A shiver slid down inside her. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. Then I saw Mrs.
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