He lowered himself on to her. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. ’ The dagger was 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. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. . In fact, one of them was downright sceptical.
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