” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. But I have not done so, and will not. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. 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. Then he entered her passionately, riding her with exquisite precision.
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