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“I might have muddled for a time. 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. The Red Room. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. Gerald switched to French. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me.
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