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. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar.
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