But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. 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. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" "The first day you came.
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