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. Softly she rose to her feet. Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. I had no curiosity of that kind. It was dawn: Cathy would soon be off to the restaurant and Larry off to paint a house. Spurling.
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