’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. ‘Ah. This was enough for the poor widow. . She rested her head upon his shoulder. But she was disappointed. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. 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. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers.
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