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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. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. “But your sister?” he asked. The three young men exchanged expressive glances. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ’ Gerald unfolded his arms and threw his hands in the air. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington. You had better go to bed. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting.
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