She had not at first the power for concealment. “We are so interested to hear, Miss Pellissier,” she said, “that you have been living in Paris. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. Dolls. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. 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.
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