On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. 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. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ’ ‘Why did you not claim it yourself?’ asked Gerald. Drink, and no sustaining food. Half French.
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