His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. 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. “You are in a private room of St. E.
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