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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. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. CHAPTER XXVI. God must love me, for he has guided me here. ‘Home?’ ‘To your family. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring.
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