what’s your name again?” He asked. 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. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. "Is it wrong, then, to surrender to good impulses?" "In the present instance, yes.
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