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. ” “Sorry. The chair was torture. ” Annabel looked down. uk Cover Art by David Evans Bailey www. Sheppard. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me.
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