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. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. He rose slowly and extended it. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. Then a roar of hisses.
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