You really ought not to stay here and talk to us. From then on he was Ruth's dog. 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. His curiosity put itself into a question. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse.
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