" "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. “Yes. ’ ‘Yes, Hilary, do stop hustling the girl,’ put in Miss Froxfield, much to Melusine’s relief and approval. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. 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. Nice lady. He tried this sentence with expletives.
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