“Why not?” he exclaimed. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. "I was at Tyburn. 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 don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp.
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