” He replied, and put his face in between her legs. ” “Oh. 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. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject.
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