"Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. ’ For a moment Melusine stared at him as she took in the full horror of his scheme. 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.
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