\" The thick girl with the blue- black hair spat. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. “Well?” she said, sitting down again. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. 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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