Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean.
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