He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. 25 <4> THE ARRIVAL OF THE BLACK DEATH He loved her many times, especially in the first month. 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.
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