” “I think I am. 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. Can I give him any message for you?” “Thank you,” Anna answered. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. It was not a difficult affair.
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