“The walk has given me an appetite, and I do not feel like waiting till five o’clock. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to sew it on. Before her was a great Gothic portal. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. 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 dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself.
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