And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. 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. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder.
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