‘Go on, Gerald. " "Be silent dog," cried Jonathan. ‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. You sing better than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. 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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