Let alone a girl. 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. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. He was aware of Hilary, in company with Lucilla and the comtesse’s daughter some few yards away, listening in suddenly. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it.
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