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. "What's the matter, father!" continued the new-comer, addressing Wood. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. Smith," observed Wood.
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