Earles drew out his cheque book. His hot juices coursed into her in quick bursts. 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. Nothing. You care for me a little, I know. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss Garvice.
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