"Let us fly from this frightful place. “That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. 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. " "You shall be treated according to your deserts, then," said Jonathan, maliciously. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “You see, daddy, I don’t think it IS preposterous.
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