This happened after he ate. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. 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 would see this sister. “What have I done, Miss Pellissier?” he pleaded. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. Unfortunately, I have little detail of the circumstances which surrounded the birth of the girl, and her subsequent removal to France.
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