Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery; sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of the stews. 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. " While Mr.
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