. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. 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. Diamonds! You shall have all that you can carry away, sacks full if you like.
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