She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. 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. ” Chapter II THE ADVENTURE OF ANNABEL The man spoke mercilessly, incisively, as a surgeon.
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