These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace. 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. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. I felt his heart. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. “Sold again,” she remarked. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. "Ah! now we come to business," returned Jonathan, rubbing his hands, gleefully. . . Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “Goodnight.
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