” “It is hard to be distant from your own mother. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. 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. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively.
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