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. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. Grimly Hilary smiled to himself at the effect of Gerald’s name.
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