She did not know herself. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. "The feeling is dead within my breast. . I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. \"Ever thought about letting me do something with your hair?\" Not needing an answer, Shari got up and whipped out a vented brush from an overstuffed drawer. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. 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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