The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. 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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