I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. 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. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. “You must tell me the truth, please.
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