He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. She taught me how to crochet and cross stitch. 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 was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. Mr. I have Remenham House which is my right.
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