‘He just came. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. " "Willingly," replied Wild. 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. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring.
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