His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. " "Do so," replied Kneebone; "but remember the door is locked. If I had been quite quiet and white and dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?. ” She turned herself to one side and propped her head in her hand. 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.
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