His face was white. Stanley poured wine. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. "And the will?" he said, with forced calmness. 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. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask.
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